


Ink

by emblah01



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Depression, F/M, Future Fic, Post-The Heroes of Olympus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:17:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4285194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emblah01/pseuds/emblah01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Percy deals with the diagnosis of PTSD and the loneliness of isolation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> first work on ao3, so bear with me as i attempt to understand how this site works.  
> trigger warning for depression, ptsd, mild sexual content, self-isolation  
> i don't own pjo.

Sometimes Percy gets sad.  
It not like it’s that big of a deal, it just happens sometimes, and he always gets over it in a couple of days.  
But somedays, he just won’t want to get out of bed, and he doesn’t want to go have a shower, and eat food, or even talk to Annabeth, which is weird, and maybe he should have been a little concerned, but it’s not like he’s having daily panic attacks anymore. He’s been out of therapy for a while now, the therapist claiming that he had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder saying he could handle it now on his own and only needed monthly appointments to see if he's still alive or something.  
So, there isn’t really anything wrong with him, not really.  
He just gets sad sometimes, and he doesn’t really see the point in anything anymore sometimes, and he doesn’t really want to be alive anymore sometimes.  
Because being alive is hard, and it’s so hard for him to see the point in putting so much effort into something without getting anything in return.  
Annabeth tries to understand, she does, but she doesn’t really get it. And, like, Percy doesn’t expect her to. He doesn’t really want her to, because then that means she gets sad, and he really wouldn't wish diagnosis on anyone. People don't understand the mental heaviness that comes from diagnosis, and the cruel reality that Percy has to look in the mirror everyday and say, "I have PTSD and I hate it."  
Percy feels like he’s drowning, a lot, which is dumb, because he’s the son of Poseidon, and like, he can’t drown unless he holds his breath underwater which would be really stupid. But then he starts wondering if he should try it, try drowning, try dying.  
Because he wonders if he’ll be happier when he’s dead, because that means that he doesn’t have to try as hard for everything.  
When they first moved in together, he and Annabeth had a lot of sex, like a lot. But now he doesn’t really want to anymore, and she’s so busy at school, and he doesn’t really know what he’s trying to do with his life anymore, so he ends up spending a lot of time in bed alone unless he has to go work at that crappy coffee shop down the road from nine to five, because they can’t afford an apartment in New York City otherwise.  
And like, he knows Annabeth is frustrated with him, because this wasn’t him when he was a teenager, but maybe it’s him now.  
He listens to a lot of angry music now, because maybe that’s how he feels a lot of the time, angry and sad. He didn’t really understand why Rachel liked listening to someone screaming and moaning about how life sucks when he first heard the music in her bedroom when he was fifteen, but now he gets it. He gets it, because life does suck sometimes, and like, he can see the appeal in overthrowing the government.  
So, he’ll lie in bed all day if he doesn’t have work or something, and blast music through headphones, and he won’t eat or anything, and maybe he’ll doodle on his arms over his scars because that looks pretty he supposes. He doesn’t have anything better to do anyways.  
Annabeth comes home from school one day, and she looks just as exhausted as him, only she actually has a reason to be, because she was at school all day and stuff, and Percy just sat around and doodled all up and down his arms and legs and listened to music too loud.  
“Hey,” she whispers.  
She crawls into bed beside him, even though it’s only five at night, and they should probably be making plans as to what to have for dinner. Instead, Annabeth presses her cold toes to his warm calf and wraps her long arms around his waist, even though he’s a good four inches taller than her and that really isn’t practical. But what is anymore, honestly?  
“Hi.”  
“I love you.” She presses a kiss to the back of his neck and rests her head against his back. Her arms tighten around him and he strokes her cold hands with his warm ones.  
“I love you too,” he says, but he doesn’t really know if he does, because he thinks that maybe he’s forgotten what it means to love.  
It’s not like he’s sad all the time. There are happy moments, blips of adrenaline and smiles and laughter and all that crap, and he likes those moment. They seem less potent now, though, and maybe that’s because he’s not sad sometimes anymore, it feels more like he’s happy sometimes. Maybe they’re balancing out or something, he’s not entirely sure.  
He decides one day that he can’t stand being in his apartment anymore, so he goes for a walk. He’s not entirely sure where he’s going, but it’s cold outside and his cheeks and nose are numb. He ends up turning into some coffee shop after about a half hour, and decides that maybe hot chocolate will help.  
He doesn’t really know what it needs to help, though.  
He orders and sits down at a table in the corner of the shop, sipping and playing apps on his iPod.  
Someone sits down across from him, and he looks up from his fourth round of Crossy Road when he sees a face he recognizes. Bright red hair in wild curls and a pale face splattered with freckles.  
“Hey, stranger,” Rachel grins. “Fancy seeing you here.”  
“Hi,” he breathes. “Wow, this is weird.”  
Rachel laughs, and he finds himself laughing too, and it’s weak, but wow, it’s been a long time since that hasn’t felt forced.  
He stands up and gives his friend a long hug. Her hands are still covered in spots of paints, but she’s not wearing her dirty shirts and old jeans anymore. Instead, she’s dressed in a wool dress and black heels, and she looks a little like she’s stepped out of the 1960’s. Her hair is pulled out of her face with a white headband, and wow Percy has missed her a lot, he realizes.  
They’d lost contact over the course of the past couple years, when he and Annabeth moved away from camp and into their small apartment and stuff, and like, Rachel couldn’t really go with them because she’s the Oracle and, Percy wishes that maybe he had stayed in contact with her, because he’s been lonely, maybe.  
“How are you? What are you doing in New York?” he asks her, his lips quirked up a little, because he’s happy to see her.  
“My art is being auctioned off at the gallery just down the street,” she says, smiling softly. “So, yeah, I’m doing pretty good. What about you, Perce? How’s the great Hero of Olympus?”  
Percy blushes and looks down at his hot chocolate that’s probably gone cold. He stirs it absentmindedly. “I’m pretty okay, I guess.”  
“Are you and Annabeth still together?” she asks, and takes a sip of her drink, and flinches. “That is still hot.”  
“I mean, yeah we are. We have an apartment, just a half hour away. Annabeth’s still going to university at the moment, and I guess she’s doing well.”  
He fiddles with his hair, which really does need to be cut, because he’s twenty-five for goodness sake, and he can’t pull off the skater-boy haircut, because for one, he hasn’t ridden a skateboard in a very long time, and two, he’s supposed to be an adult. Funny, he doesn’t really feel like one.  
“What about you, Percy?”  
“I mean... Like I said, I’m pretty okay.”  
Rachel purses her lips, which are coated in red lipstick that makes her eyes looks bright. “Are you sure?” she asks.  
Percy smiles at her guiltily. “Not really.”  
She takes his hand in hers, a friendly gesture that maybe he’s missed and maybe he hasn’t.  
Percy hasn’t really had much contact with friends since they moved to New York, because he just hasn’t had time, maybe, and he was busy with the move and Annabeth was so busy with school, and wow, how long has it been since he’s visited his mom? One month, maybe two? How long has it been since he’s been to camp? A long time, and he can’t quite wrap his head around the idea that wow, he’s been disconnected from a lot of people that he’s supposed to care about for a very long time.  
“Percy,” Rachel says softly. “I don’t think you’re pretty okay. And, I know I haven’t been around for a long time, and that’s probably partially my fault, and maybe it isn’t my place, but I do still care about you.” She looks at the time on her phone, which is a the same flip phone she’d had when they were fifteen and running through Daedalus’ labyrinth, and for some reason that makes him smile sadly. “I have to go now, so I’m going to give you my phone number, and maybe we can meet for coffee some other time. Or something else, but I’d like to see you out of your apartment again, because I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve not left it for a long time.”  
She scribbles down her number on Percy’s arm with a Sharpie marker she’s produced from her bag.  
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Percy decides, and for some reason he’s not as sad as before, and he doesn’t really know how to feel about that. Sometimes, when you’re sad for so long, you get used to that weird, disconnected numbness and anger, and feeling anything else is just weird and alien, and Percy needs to lie down.  
Rachel hugs him and pecks him on the cheek before she grabs a large bag with a sketch book poking out of the top and struts out of the coffee shop.  
***  
Annabeth is home when he gets back an hour later. She’s sitting on the couch, the T.V. playing some sort of documentary.  
“Hey,” she says when he walks through the door. “Where were you all afternoon?”  
“I was out,” he replies vaguely. “I went to go get some coffee and ran into Rachel and we got talking.”  
Annabeth nods. “Rachel, as in Rachel Elizabeth Dare?”  
“The one and only.”  
Percy plops down beside her. He’s feeling oddly happy at the moment, and he suddenly wants to kiss Annabeth for real this time, and maybe it can go somewhere, and maybe not, but for first time in a long time, he wouldn’t mind it if it did.  
So he does, and she seems a little surprised that he’s initiating something for once. She smiles into him, lacing her fingers with his and tilting her head to meet him in the middle, and maybe that’s all she can for him at the moment.  
“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls back.  
She grins at him and kisses him again, long and slow. It answers him perfectly, but she says anyway, “I love you too.” She plays with the hem of his shirt, and stares at his lips. “Are we doing this?” she whispers.  
“If you want to.”  
He’s not sure why they’re whispering, and he feels a little more alive than he did this morning, and the most alive than he has in the past year.  
Annabeth is beaming and kisses him again, and they go slow and steady, like they’re first time when they were only eighteen. And they’re laughing the whole time, and it feels a little bit like learning again.  
***  
Percy wakes up the next morning to a cold bed. Annabeth’s left a little note on her pillow, explaining that she had to leave for class, but that there’s some coffee on the counter for him and that she loves him a lot.  
The ink smudges under his fingers, so she must not have left a long time ago, and the coffee is still warm and bitter and it burns his fingers a little when he picks it up, because his hands are cold. The bedroom window never quite closes all the way, so he’s used to waking up to hold hands and feet that sting when he hops in the warm shower. He sits at their dining room table, sipping on the coffee, and scrolling through Facebook, because apparently people can’t stop telling everyone that they’re getting married or having another child.  
Percy would like a child, he thinks to himself absently. That wouldn’t be the worst deal, he thinks. And he’d like a little girl with blonde curls and blue eyes, like his mom’s. And maybe he wouldn’t make the best dad, because he still gets sad, but he’d love the child, and he could teach them so many things, and they could teach him how to love again maybe.  
Because it’s not as if he’s forgotten completely, he’s just out of practice.  
He changes out of his pyjamas at around noon, and end stares at the phone number scrawled over his forearm over top of the little doodles that used to decorate it. He blinks at the doodles and makes a decision on a whim.  
He calls Rachel a half hour later.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi, Rach, this is Percy?” he says uncertainly. Had she given his the wrong number?  
“Oh hi!” She sounds delighted to hear from him. “How are you?”  
“I’m... better than yesterday I think, thanks. Um... So, Rachel? How good are you at drawing flowers?” he asks her.  
“I mean, I’m okay, I guess. Why?” she asks, and she sounds confused; she has good reason, Percy supposes.  
“How soon can you meet me at that coffee shop from yesterday? Like, are you busy?” Percy picks at his nails, and maybe it’s a dumb idea, what he’s about to do, but he hasn’t done anything stupidly impulsive in a long time, and this time it won’t even risk his life. Probably.  
“Within the next hour, why?”  
“I’ll see you then.”  
He hangs up before she can reply and he can rethink this decision.  
***  
“Wait, what?” Rachel demands.  
“I want you to design a flower, so I can get a tattoo,” Percy states plainly, and honesty, he thought it was pretty simple.  
“You want a tattoo? Of a flower?” Rachel asks in disbelief.  
The coffee shop is noisier than it was yesterday, and they’re sitting at a table in the middle of the shop instead of the back this time. Rachel is dressed in a wool sweater that looks a little like something a grandmother would wear and jeans today, and she looks a lot more like the Rachel Percy remembers from his hero years than she did yesterday. Almost like a crossover of the two.   
“Yes,” Percy laughs, and it’s still weak, but it’s stronger than it has been in a while. “I didn’t know this was so complicated, Red.”  
Rachel smiles at the old nickname and rolls her eyes. “I just want to know why.”  
“Why not?” Percy shrugs. “You have one on the back of your neck.”  
Her hair is pulled up into a bun on the back of her neck, and Percy can just see the curling black ink from under the red ringlets.  
“I do,” she acknowledges. “But I got mine after thinking about it for a very long time, so I was sure I’d want it.”  
Percy bits down on his bottom lip, chewing on a piece of skin. “I just–” He grips Rachel’s hands in his own. “Rachel, I need to do this. I need to do this without thinking it through. And like, I know I want it. I really do.”  
“I am going to regret this,” she sighs. “Fine.” She pulls a small drawing pad out of the same big black bag Percy had seen yesterday. “What type of flower?”  
Percy smiles at her, and leans across the table to peck her forehead. “Thank you, Rachel.”  
She punches him on the arm lightly. “At least you’re smiling now, dork.”  
***  
He walks into the tattoo parlour alone, and from what he’s read online about places to get tattoos done on short notice in New York City, this seems like the safest place.  
A big, burly man, with inked arms and neck and too many piercings to count, grins at him when he enters. The shop is completely empty, but he wasn’t really expecting anything different on a Wednesday afternoon.  
“Hi,” he says shyly. “Um, could I get a tattoo done, please?” he asks, because he doesn’t really know what else he’s supposed to say.  
“Well, that’s what we tend to do here,” the man laughs. “Do you have a design?”  
Percy pulls that piece of paper Rachel gave him out of his back pocket, and hands it to the man. His moustache bristles as he looks at the design. He glances at Percy and raises his eyebrows.  
“This is nice,” he comments. “And it’ll work perfectly. Where did you want this?”  
“Um, on my ribcage. Small. Like, three inches long?” Percy shows him the spot, on his right side, just under his pectoral.  
“Okay. Gimme a couple minutes to set up, and we can get this done in about a half hour. In the meantime, I’ll need you to fill out these papers, and I need to see some I.D.”  
Percy lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His hands have stopped shaking. The man nods when he sees his driver’s license, and Percy fills out papers.  
It doesn’t hurt all that much when he gets the tattoo. The man, who introduces himself as Greg when Percy finishes filling out papers, asks him if he was alright and if he needed to stop every ten minutes or so into the procedure.  
Greg bandages the tattoo up and gives Percy the run-down on tattoo after-care one more time before letting him go.  
Percy ends up giving him a large tip that he probably can’t afford, but he’d been very kind, and he’s about ninety-percent sure he hasn’t been this happy ever.  
Annabeth just shakes her head when he shows her and pecks him quickly.  
“It’s very you,” she says as she’s running he fingers across the small picture of a dandelion on his skin two months later. They’re lying in their bed again, but this time it’s nighttime, and Percy is smiling at his girlfriend, almost uncontrollably. Annabeth thinks that it might be a little creepy, but it’s a million times better than the alternative.  
Percy stills gets sad sometimes, but he’s also happy. And he isn’t very alone anymore, either.

**Author's Note:**

> please note that these are my experiences with depression projected onto fictional characters, and that i'm not saying this is how it is for everyone.  
> currently in the process of moving all my fics from ffn.net to here, because i like the layout here more, even if it a little confusing at the moment. :) my penname there is emblah01, if you're interested.  
> thanks for reading!


End file.
